“Almighty God having blessed His Majesty’s arms with victory, the Admiral intends returning public Thanksgiving for the same at two o’clock this day; and he recommends every ship doing the same as soon as convenient.
“Vanguard. Off the Mouth of the Nile. 2nd, August, 1798.”
It is done. The Mediterranean is English once more and Napoleon’s dream of French domination in Egypt broken. Non nobis Domine is the cry on Nelson’s lips—Not unto us, O Lord; not unto us.
But she was His instrument; without her, it could not have been done. He knows it. She shall have the earliest news if it be at all in his power. She, who struck with him in every blow, to whom every man in the Fleet owes his devotion; Saint Emma, as he was to call her later.
Captain Hoste should carry his news, the Admiralty despatches should go through Naples, but nothing in heaven or earth should keep himself from Naples, that he might thank, praise, bless her, who had made all things possible to him and to England. Europe lifted her head and rejoiced with exceeding great joy; India also, for he sent a messenger speeding to Bombay by Aleppo and Baghdad to announce that the menace was crushed, and Clive’s work perpetuated forever.
She was in the room of mirrors watching as she watched now daily, for news from the Fleet. Her life was almost unbearably anxious. Sir William, torn from the peaceful pursuits of years of dilettantism and converted in spite of his aversion into a serious diplomat, was gravely ill more than once from the strain.
It could not be otherwise, for he was hard upon sixty-eight, and the whole world-struggle was centring in the Mediterranean so that Naples, which had been the appointment par excellence for idle delights, became the most strenuous point of the pitched battle with the French by sword and pen. The Queen was aged and querulous with unceasing cares and the misery of a foolish husband undermining her at every turn. She made her own mistakes, too, in plenty; of cruel harshness in dealing with the incipient revolutionaries of Naples and Palermo, and foolish efforts which weakened her cause. And every day she leaned more heavily on Emma, and every day Emma responded with more feverish zeal. Mistaken also, often enough, but with the clear purpose of breaking the revolution, and aiding Nelson and England, and the Two Sicilies through them.
So she watched at her window, with Sir William, ill and a little querulous also beside her, and saw a ship coming up the bay. The Queen was at her Palace at Caserta; the city lay sweltering under the August heat. She herself was enervated and half exhausted, suffering the reaction of a fierce excitement and prolonged suspense.
Guns—the salute to the Royal flag at San Elmo, the forts replying. She hurried out breathless. A ship that had the air of a battered sea-bird, making harbour after long gales and struggles. A small ship—the Mutine. She delayed neither at Capri nor Ischia, she came steadily on and dropped anchor as near shore as possible.
Emma did not awake the sleeping old man, since the guns had failed to do it. After all, it might be nothing, a trifle, and he needed rest; but again and very quietly, she took his glass and watched proceedings with a pitying glance first at the wrinkled face and dropped jaw beside her. A boat putting off from the ship. How often now she had watched those boats and tried to guess their errands!